Fruits de mer
by MillionMoments
Summary: In which Richard feels sorry for oysters. And later, incredibly grateful for their existence. Sequel to "The Cuttlefish Conundrum"
1. Chapter 1

Title: _Fruits de Mer_

Rating: T

Category: Romance, Fluff, Richard/Camille, Resolved romantic tension, _Pinctada imbricata_

Summary: In which Richard feels sorry for oysters. And later, incredibly grateful for their existence. Sequel to "The Cuttlefish Conundrum"

A/N: I had to change the original storyline slightly after I discovered it was biologically impossible. It is still a little off biologically, so could we all please just pretend it isn't? I started this as a standalone, then after writing "A Cephalopod crime wave" realised I could link it to that. This follows on from "The Cuttlefish Conundrum"

* * *

Chapter One: Sympathising with Oysters

Richard trailed Camille somewhat reluctantly down the beach. Having lost another bet with her, on a topic he should really know more about considering she had only just taken an interest, he was now liable not only for drinks, but dinner as well. Not at her Mother's bar though, oh no, Camille was really rubbing in her win by forcing him to go to some place he had never heard of, and they were walking there the long way around!

At least he knew what they could talk about this evening. If Camille decided to try and probe him for any personal information, as she was warrant to do whenever she had the chance, he could easily deflect her by moving the conversation back to marine biology. Of course quite often he found himself confessing things before his brain had time to stop him – such was the power of her presence on him. He was completely baffled at how she did it and assumed she must employ some psychological techniques he was not familiar with. So far, it had always been fine – she'd never laughed, or disowned him, when she learnt something new about him, something he would normally refrain from sharing. Yet he remained reticent about revealing any more personal stories – he was English after all.

"Come on! Look where we are, perhaps Olympus is still about!" Camille called playfully as she climbed up onto the rocks at the marine reserve lagoon. He scowled at her, his normal response when she was being particularly effervescent and impish and all sorts of adjectives that he would never be. Richard found it nicely hid the emotions he was feeling inside, which was normally a kind of nauseating excitement.

"I've already kept my promise on that account, I don't think there is any need for us to see each other again," he informed her flatly. She pouted and it took mere milliseconds for him to relent and awkwardly clamber up onto the rocks with her.

Camille stared into the water, initially expectant and then disappointed when no octopus appeared. "It doesn't seem there is much of anything down there," she said with a small sigh.

"No, look, between those two rocks. I think that is an Atlantic oyster - _Pinctada imbricata _if I remember correctly." She squinted, but didn't seem to be able to spot. "There," he said, pointing.

"You mean between these rocks?" She lifted her own arm to point revealing she was looking a bit too far left, and Richard reached out and corrected her. Of course this brought him a lot closer to her than he normally allowed himself to be, and he noticed it had the effect of increasing his pulse rate and making him forget what he was supposed to be showing her. He let go quickly and moved back.

"Oh, yes," she said as she finally spotted it, turning to him and flashing a smile in thanks. "I thought they lived in deeper water than this."

"Um, no, they are, you know, shallow water creatures," much to his dismay her smile had caused him to lose the ability to speak articulately. Richard wondered what the hell was wrong with him this evening. "Though this is _unusually_ shallow, perhaps it got washed in here during that storm we had last week."

"I think I can reach it actually!" Camille declared, before recklessly leaning over the edge of the rock and plunging her whole arm into the lagoon. He managed to resist the urge to grab hold of her in case she fell in - until she huffed in annoyed and shifted so she was perilously balanced all in an effort to retrieve a single oyster. He almost just reached out and grabbed the nearest part of her he could, but his brain _did_ step in and prevent him from doing something that could have very well been constituted as groping and instead he got hold of one of her ankles. Feeling this, Camille sat back up, "Why are you holding on to my ankle?"

"I was worried you'd fall in!"

"I _can_ swim you know," she reminded him. Richard wanted to say he knew that, but he was concerned she might hit her head on a rock on the way down and knock herself unconscious and drown before he got her out, but he was worried he'd seem overly anxious.

"Fine!" He huffed instead. "Next time I won't concern myself with your safety."

Camille ignored him, wriggled even further over the edge causing him to grab hold of her ankles again despite her protests, and then gave a little cry of triumph, "Got it!"

She sat back up, shaking excess water off her arm and splashing Richard. "Whoops, sorry!" Richard doubted that, from the grin he was pretty certain she had done it on purpose. She shuffled back down off the rock and standing up, examined the oyster closely. "It's quite pretty, really, isn't it?" Relieved to get off the rock, Richard joined her and she held out the oyster for him to take.

"You sort of have to feel sorry for oysters really, I mean, there they are minding their own business and then somebody drags them off up the sea floor, cracks them open and kills them – often for nothing because there is no pearl inside." Richard found himself absently stroking the outside of the shell, as if trying to console the oyster for the treatment of its fellows by humans. He felt Camille's gaze on him, and found himself embarrassed by the look she was giving him – one that felt almost affectionate. "What?" He asked, perhaps a little sharpish, but he was suddenly feeling defensive.

"Just…you," she replied, which was no clue at all really. "I just never expected _you_ to care about the feelings of, well, an oyster."

"I don't think the oyster had _feelings_!" he protested. "That _is_ ridiculous. But harvesting oysters in some areas has had massively detrimental environmental impacts, driving some species to near extinction. There is certainly no need to kill creatures unnecessarily. If you're careful you can even extract a pearl without killing it. Here, if you give me your knife I can show you, plus you can have a quick peak at the inside of an oyster, it's very interesting." He found himself keen to impress her with his knowledge of bivalve anatomy, but instead she was frowning at him.

"Why would you think I have a knife on me?" Camille asked.

Richard took a moment to consider his answer, "I don't know, you just strike me as the sort of woman who is practical enough to carry around a pen knife. Plus your bag is so big it must have useful stuff in it."

"It could just be full of makeup," she pointed out.

"I suppose that could be true," Richard conceded. "Is it?"

After a long pause she gave a small smile and admitted, "No." She then rummaged in her bag until she pulled out a small (and perfectly legal, of course) pen knife.

"Are you sure you aren't going to hurt it," she asked, as he opened the knife.

"You think after my little rant I would do this if I thought that would happen?" He asked, peeved. He slid the knife in and very gently prised the oyster open a little. "Now you just need a plug or something to keep it open this fraction, it's opening the shell all the way that kills them. Um…" Camille passed him, of all things, a foam ear plug from her bag. He began to wonder what else was in there.

He peered inside. "Oh," he said, immediately getting Camille's attention.

"What is it?"

"There actually _is_ a pearl in there," he told her. She immediately crowded him, desperate to have a peak. He found himself better able to cope with her proximity this time, her obvious excitement was infectious. "I really didn't think there would be. Unfortunately I would need some tweezers to remove it with-" He didn't need to finish that sentence, as Camille suddenly shoved a pair under his nose. "So as soon as there is something shiny in the oyster we stop sympathising with it?" He asked, with a small smile – it was just teasing, he was actually quite keen to have a look himself.

"Hey, maybe this oyster has presented _you_ with the pearl as a gift for your defence of its oyster friends!" That was possibly the most ridiculous statement he had ever heard from Camille, and he since he had no words to express how utterly ludicrous he found that idea he just stared at her. She ignored him and waved the tweezers in his face some more.

With a sigh, he took them from her. Richard was actually quite nervous, worried that his hand might shake and give the game away. He took a few calming breaths and tried not to think about how disappointed Camille would be if he failed, because he knew deep down that was why he was so nervous. Gently, very gently, he reached in with the tweezers and took hold of the pearl. It only just fit through the gap in the shell opening and with relief he dropped it into Camille's hand, removed the plug and let the oyster close itself up again.

"Oh, I didn't get a look at the inside!" Camille instantly complained. A complaint Richard found incredible considering she had a rather nice example of a pearl to look at, surely preferably to most women than the inner workings of an oyster?

"I felt the removal of the pearl was traumatic enough," he explained. "I'm quite keen to put it back actually." Camille nodded in agreement, and he dropped it gently back between some rocks.

"Oh it's so lovely!" Camille exclaimed as she passed the pearl to Richard. He didn't actually know that much about pearl quality or valuation, but it did _seem_ like a nice pearl. "Well, you spotted the oyster first and extracted the pearl, so I think that makes it yours! What are you going to do with it?" Camille asked him.

"Oh, no, you have it!" He said, trying to give it back. He hadn't retrieved the bloody thing for himself.

"Why are you giving it to me?" Camille asked, and it wasn't a casual question either – for some reason she had suddenly come over all serious.

"Well I haven't got a use for it, have I? So I might as well give it to a woman who can presumably use it for jewellery or something. And since the number of women I know is pretty much limited to you and our respective mother's, you might as well have it."

It was, evidently, the wrong thing to say. Camille had crossed her arms and looked angry with him, and he had no clue why. "You can't just give it to me because I'm a woman that you know!" She told him. "It's a special thing, a rare thing, and you should save it and give it to somebody special." She then promptly turned and stormed off, still angry for reasons he couldn't fathom.

Richard's problem, he concluded as he watched her slow down and wait for him (apparently not _so_ mad she didn't still want to go to dinner), was that Camille did fit that category of "somebody special". But he was never going to be able to tell her that.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

Camille was perfectly aware she shouldn't have snapped at him, and she did feel quite guilty for doing so. Did she honestly expect he would, when she asked him why he was giving her the pearl, make some grand romantic statement? Did she have the right to expect anything other than his very practical approach to the whole thing? After all the response he gave had been so _very_ Richard. And it was Richard, with all his emotionally repressed Englishness, that she had recently realised she was in love with - but that didn't mean she still wasn't foolishly dreaming of hearts and flowers occasionally.

And now her little outburst had made him uncomfortable. Camille was acutely aware that for the rest of the (blessedly short) walk to the restaurant Richard had been wracking his brains, probably trying to figure out what he had done wrong – and he never would. Nor would he ask, which was probably for the best as she was likely to be too embarrassed to admit the truth. As they were being seated it was clear he was still thoroughly distracted, it had taken him a painfully long time to order as he didn't seem to be able to absorb what was actually on the menu.

Camille was making an effort now to get him talking again, broaching several subjects she knew he enjoyed – even a few that might trigger a rant, anything to bring him back into the here and now. In a last ditch attempt she went for shocking.

"So, anyway, dolphins are fascinated by watching themselves have sex in mirrors." Richard paused lifting a glass of water to his lips, and she knew the information was sinking in.

"I, um," he said, blushing slightly and shifting uncomfortably. "Yes I think I have read that." He winced, as if he wished he hadn't shared his perusal of papers of cetacean sexual behaviour. Though she could hardly criticise him considering she had clearly read the information somewhere as well. "Um, you know, I'm not sure this is the, you know, best topic of conversation for dinner?"

"It's the first one I've managed to get you to engage in," she pointed out. He winced again.

"Sorry, I, um, have been a little distracted, haven't I?"

"What are you thinking?" Camille asked, not expecting a straight answer at all. She was right not to.

"Oh just about…this and that," he said vaguely. There was an awkward silence before he asked, with forced enthusiasm, "So, have you been snorkelling before?"

* * *

Richard hoped his question didn't give Camille false hope about getting him to go snorkelling. The aim had actually been just to try and show an interest in her, as he had failed to for the first 20 minutes of their meal. To be fair, that was her fault – confusing the hell out of him with her little outburst and leaving him wondering how to fix what he had done wrong. As well as figure out what he had done wrong.

He was trying to formulate a plan. He knew he couldn't just say "by the way I think you are really special, actually I'm very much in love with you, and here have this pearl as a token of that aforementioned affection." If he could, he would have done it ages ago. He neither had the confidence in her feelings for him to do so, or the ability to express himself eloquently if he were to make the attempt. He was English, and thus emotionally repressed and awkward.

What he might be able to convince himself to do was some sort of significant action. One that hopefully she would interpret in the way he intended, and then react in the way he only dreamed of…Thus his distraction had largely been trying to think of such an action. As he listened to her witter on about some sort of rare coral, he made his final decision.

He had a plan.

* * *

Yup, he had a plan. He really did. He just had to enact it. Which meant he needed to stop walking past the stall, and actually go up to it in order to have a conversation with its proprietor. It was on his sixth walk past that the young-ish (since he had reached forty he could no longer age anyone under 30, they all looked about 12 to him) woman that she cleared her throat and asked politely, "Are you looking for anything in particular, Sir?"

"No," he said instantly, which was stupid, because her question was actually the perfect lead in for him to have stated _exactly _what he wanted. She quirked an eyebrow, and he realised she knew he had misspoken. "Well, yes. I found a pearl."

"Oh I heard about that," the girl said brightly. This shouldn't have surprised Richard, Camille was bound to have told her Mother who would then mention it to a couple of her regulars and, well, it was a _very_ small island. "Well I can have a look at it but I am unlikely to be able to offer you the sort of price you might get on Guadeloupe."

"Oh no I don't want to sell it to you," he hurried to explain. "I want to give it to you!"

"You want to _give_ me a pearl?" She asked, bemused.

"Well not for nothing!" He said, with a small, nervous laugh.

She continued to just level him with a stare and eventually, with a certain air of patience, said, "So you don't want to sell me the pearl, but give it to me, but not for nothing? Because generally exchanging money for an item would be called buying…unless you're expecting some other sort of favour in return because you should know I'm _not_ that sort of woman."

"No, I mean, um, a commission! That's the word. I want to _commission_ you to make a piece, using the pearl! You make this all yourself, don't you?" He waved a hand at the pieces of jewellery she had on display.

"Oh right," she looked really pleased now, and a little surprised. "I do make them all, but nobody has ever asked me to make some especially before! Um, why me?" She asked a little self-consciously.

"I like your work. It isn't…ostentatious, more…classy." Luckily she seemed to take it as the compliment he intended it to be.

"You walk past me every day and I didn't think you'd ever given it a second glance!"

"Well perhaps I am just more subtle with my observations," he pointed out. Actually, until today he had never really looked closely, but he could recall several instances of Camille dallying and holding them up whilst she paused to have a look at the stall. He assumed that was a good indication she actually liked the stuff. But he meant what he said, the stuff did seem quite classy to him. Though he was willing to admit is knowledge on such matters was limited.

She held out a hand and Richard realised she wanted to see the pearl. He looked over his shoulder, because even though he knew Camille was way, way on the other side of the island (he had sent her there) he was paranoid somebody else might spot him. He unwrapped it from a hankie and dropped it into her palm.

"Oh it is a very good specimen," she said. "I take it a necklace would be what you are after?"

"Um, do you think that would be best?"

"Well, I can't really make a pair of earrings with just one pearl," she pointed out. "Oh, unless it was a ring you wanted me to set it into?"

"No!" He said quickly, and probably a little too firmly. This gesture was probably already going to fail miserably, he didn't need the added possibility of the misinterpretation of presenting Camille with a bloody ring. "Necklace is fine."

"Now I'm assuming it isn't for yourself," she said with a small smile. "So perhaps to start me off with a few ideas for designs you could tell me something about the style of the lady in question."

"Err…" Richard really had no idea where to even start. What was "style" anyway?

"What sort of jewellery does she wear?" She prompted.

"Um…"

"Does she show a preference for gold or silver?"

"Well…"

At this point it became clear even to somebody as dense with emotions as Richard that she was losing patience a little, "Sir, I deal with quite a few women on the island. Perhaps if you just told me who you want to gift this necklace to I would know their tastes already."

He hesitated as he wasn't sure he wanted this woman, essentially a stranger, to know. Largely because of the great deal she could infer from the information. Plus there was a chance she might gossip about it. She seemed to read his mind on that front, "Of course I wouldn't want to ruin any sort of surprise, so would keep it entirely confidential."

Well, that was reassuring, but he was still dithering and uncertain if he should tell her or not. Eventually she sighed aggressively and asked directly, "Is it for Camille Bordey?"

The question shocked him so much he actually took half a step back. She seemed oddly satisfied by this reaction. "It's a _very_ small island," she said, reflecting his earlier thoughts.

That it was.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Usefulness of Oysters

To Richard, the girl looked like she was gearing up for the reveal of the century. This made him nervous – what if she had gone over the top this time? What if the pendant was utterly hideous? Would he be able to hide his disgust? Would he be able to retrieve the pearl from the setting if it was unsuitable? These were all questions he simply didn't have time to find answers for.

She leaned forward conspiratorially, enough to feel like she was in his personal space and cause him to shift back a fraction, and said, "You're confident she isn't going to come around the corner, right?"

"Yes, she is on Guadeloupe today, I sent her there."

"Ah! To make sure she didn't interrupt us?" She said, nodding enthusiastically.

"No, mostly because she was annoying the hell out of me all day yesterday, the not being interrupted thing is just an added bonus." The girl (she had told him her name, but he hadn't quite caught it and now he was too embarrassed to ask again) frowned, and Richard realised he perhaps shouldn't have been quite so honest. But Camille _had_ been _very_ annoying – trying to convince him to try an activity known as body boarding which she insisted was not the same as surfing even though it sounded _exactly_ the same as surfing.

"Right, well, anyway!" She removed a cloth that had been covering his purchase with a small flourish and, trying to hide his trepidation, Richard leaned in to have a look. The first thing he noted was that it was not garish, thank goodness. In fact, to his senses, it was really rather nice. Simple, but not so simple as to seem boring. If he trusted his judgement in such matters he would refer to it as sophisticated. Richard realised it had been some time since he had last spoken, and he was being watched anxiously.

"You've done a good job," he said honestly. "I'm very pleased with the results."

It was now Richard's turn to be nervous. When he woke up on the morning of Camille's birthday, he realised he hadn't planned how he would hand over her gift. There was no way he was going to make a big deal of it, and he certainly didn't want witnesses, but he also wanted to try and convey that it was meant to be something special. But not in the manner that would force her to pretend she liked it even if she hated or was horrified by the idea of him choosing to give her a pearl in this way. Being largely inexperienced at giving gifts to women, he had no idea if such a thing was even possible. It was far too late to seek any advice on the matter as well.

Luckily, Richard had had the foresight to request the pendant was not presented in any sort of box that could be mistaken for a ring box and the jeweller had obliged him by providing a larger, flatter box for the pendant and its chain. At least that was something he didn't need to worry about. He secreted this into an inside pocket of his jacket and mentally resolved not to spend the day fiddling with it like some nervous man intending to propose. Though he did check it was there about six times before he left the bungalow.

As he sat behind his desk, he knew giving her the present at the station was not going to be an option. Camille had opted to come into work, something about turning 34 hardly being a big deal. Somewhat to his annoyance though people spent all day dropping by to wish her a happy birthday, many bringing flowers, cakes or chocolates until the station started resembling a twee gift shop rather than a place of serious police work. It took all of his self-control not to comment, but the massive bunch of balloons somebody brought in finally pushed him over the edge and led to the sort of rant he had being trying to avoid. Camille, to his surprise, took the entire thing in her stride.

"I can tell you've been holding that in most of today," she said mildly at the end of his tirade. "I'm quite impressed you made it so long." She then gathered up as many presents as she could and informed him she would leave a little early and go drop them off at her Mother's. Richard was grateful it hadn't resulted in a full blown argument between the two of them, because that would probably have led to an atmosphere that was not conducive to gift giving.

Of course this meant Camille was now gone for the day and quite possibly the next time he would see her was at the small party in her honour this evening. And he still hadn't decided how to give her the bloody pendant.

Richard decided it needed to be _before_ the party. This was for several well thought out and logical reasons. Firstly, if he judged she didn't like it, then it would not be entirely out of character for him to excuse himself quite early on in the proceedings. Then he could simply come in to work the next day and pretend like nothing had ever happened – a technique that had served him well in the past. Secondly, he worried that if he gave it to her at the end of the evening it might give the wrong impression – like he was expecting something in return. Finally, and most importantly, he knew if he didn't force himself to do it soon he never would.

Richard resolved to go to Camille's place and walk her to her Mother's bar. Surely the 15 minute journey would present some ideal opportunity?

Camille was a little surprised to open her door and find Richard standing there, and immediately she could think of only one explanation for his presence, "Oh no! You _are _coming to the party, I don't care what excuse you have!" He just gave her a confused look. "I assumed you were here to tell me you weren't coming this evening?"

"Oh!" He cried, giving a nervous little laugh. "No, no, not at all. Um, just thought, you know, I'd walk you over."

"Right," she replied, pleasantly surprised. She hadn't expected such a courteous act at all. Perhaps he was trying to make up for the ranting earlier. Camille had been reasonably surprised by her own lack of anger at it – but then she had noted him making an effort not to comment since the very first bunch of flowers arrived. "Well I am nearly ready." He gave a short nod and Camille popped back into the house to get her bag and check her make up one last time, leaving the door open. He remained on the doorstep though, shifting nervously from foot to foot and making her wonder if there was more going on here than she thought. The behaviour was quite cute though, really.

"Ok, let's go!" She said happily, stepping out onto the porch with him. For a moment she really thought he was going to offer to take her arm or something, like out of a Jane Austen novel, but that did not occur.

They walked a little awkwardly in silence for some time before Camille said conversationally, "_Maman_ probably will try to get you to drink whatever cocktail she has invented this year in honour of my birthday!"

It didn't surprise her in the slightest when he grimaced in response, "Well perhaps it will have lime in it and I'll have a valid excuse. Or kiwi, I'm allergic to kiwi." He paused thoughtfully and then added, "Could be a whole range of things I'm allergic too…"

"I will _know_ if you are lying," Camille said, mock stern. He cleared his throat and didn't look at her, clearly aware that it was true.

"Um…" He began, before falling silent. Camille waited for him to continue but he chose not to.

"I swear the cocktails get more alcoholic ever year," she continued. "I think it is an attempt to get me drunk enough to agree to blind dates outside of the _Erzulie_ festival."

He glanced at her sideways, "But it hasn't worked yet?"

"No," she said, with a smile. "I could drink most men under the table."

"Really?"

"Really, but you are welcome to challenge me to see if it's true," She offered suggestively, causing him to blush a little. He didn't respond so she continued, "Hopefully next year I'll avoid the _Erzulie_ blind date as well!"

"Good!" He said, a little forcefully. It filled her with hope, as the real reason she hoped she wouldn't have to go on the stupid blind date was that she'd have a date with a man she chose herself. "Umm…"

Once again he trailed off, and this time Camille decided to prompt him, "Yes?"

"Nothing."

She held in a sigh of frustration and instead tried to hunt around for a topic of conversation they both enjoyed. Her marine biology was entirely exhausted now so she tried to dredge up some other interesting fact.

"Do you know about Gruinard?" Richard asked suddenly.

"Gru what?"

"Gruinard, small Scottish island sometimes called Anthrax Island?" He explained. It didn't really help.

"Um, no, I haven't…"

"Oh, the British Government used it to test potential biological warfare during World War II. They tethered a load of sheep there and then set of bombs filled with anthrax, killing them all. It proved far too effective and remained uninhabitable for years," he rambled off. Camille couldn't believe her ears – it was her birthday, and he was talking about killing sheep with anthrax. How on earth did he manage to go from a gesture as sweet as turning up to walk her to her party to talking about _killing sheep with anthrax?_

"Right, that is, um, interesting," she managed to say politely. Of course, what she actually meant was horrific.

"Isn't it!" He said brightly, not realising she didn't mean it and seemingly pleased. Another pause, and he began again, "Um, Camille, I, um…"

"You what?"

"Nothing." Camille sincerely doubted it was, in fact, nothing. She really wished he would spit it out, because until he did she would harbour vague dreams of him intending to ask her out to dinner or something. The reality was probably him wanting to tell her some fact about sarin. "It's just that, well, I…" He started again.

"Yes?" She said, probably a little too eager.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," he said, as they came up to the patio outside of her Mother's bar. He looked downright dejected and Camille couldn't let the moment pass. She came to a complete stop, and turned to face him, giving him a firm and expectant stare. "Uh, are we not going in?"

"Not until you spit out whatever it is you have been trying to say all the way here!" He looked surprised she had picked up on that, Camille would have thought he would have learnt by now she was good at reading people. Except when her own insecurities got in the way.

"Right," he said, glancing around as if he was checking for witnesses. They were a little early and, thankfully, there weren't too many people around – certainly nobody they knew. Hopefully her Mother would stay ensconced behind the bar for the moment. "Well, it's just…." She continued to look at him and he finally finished, in a rush, "I got you a birthday present!"

Oh! Well, that sort of made sense, he must have been nervous that she wouldn't like it. Camille resolved to pretend she loved it even if it turned out to be a copy of Anthony Trollope's complete works. When he made no further move to actually give her the gift she said, "Perhaps you can give it to me to inside."

That had the desired effect, "No, um, I'll, you know, give it to you now."

He pulled a box from his inside pocket that definitely didn't contain a book, unless he had saved it onto a USB or something. She took it, excitement causing butterflies in her stomach, and opened it. Camille couldn't believe her eyes, "Is this…?"

"Yes!" He said quickly. "It's the same one we found. I had it, you know…"

He had had the pearl set in a pendant. A beautiful one, in a style Camille was certain she recognised and certainly loved. For once, Camille was speechless. The effort, the expense he went to - Camille knew he had taken her little rant to heart. This was his grand romantic gesture – his way of saying she was a special person. There wasn't any other way to interpret the actions. She stepped towards him, moving to kiss him on the cheek whilst she tried to think of something to say. She heard the hitch in his breath when she got close to him, and for some reason his nervousness made her feel braver. Instead of his cheek, she took the chance to press her lips briefly to his, quickly pulling back a little to gage his reaction. He caught hold of her gaze for a moment and then to Camille's surprise and delight moved in to kiss her again.

She responded eagerly, perhaps a little too eagerly, and there were a few awkward moments before they managed to set a pace somewhere between her enthusiastic one and his more nervous one that they were both comfortable with. She placed one hand behind his neck as the other still gripped the box containing her gift. Richard didn't seem entirely sure what to do with his own hands, at first gently trailing fingers down one of her arms, then touching her face and stroking her hair. Camille didn't really care as long as he kept kissing her, kept touching her.

Eventually, though, they did have to break for air. An annoying voice in her head that sounded very much like her mother was also reminding Camille that she was supposed to be going to her birthday party, not making out like a teenager on the patio. Then, to her horror, she realised that the voice wasn't in her head, her Mother actually _was_ lecturing her. Richard had frozen, clearly terrified of Catherine, but Camille could tell her mother wasn't _actually_ irate – she was just not letting the opportunity to tease them pass. Giving Richard's shoulder a reassuring little squeeze, she made a largely useless attempt to pat her hair back into place before turning to face her mother.

"I don't care what gift he gave you, though I assume it must be a good one to deserve that response," her Mother was saying, a single eyebrow raised. Camille thought she could sense Richard attempting to will the ground to swallow him up.

"Yes, it was, do you want to see," Camille said handing over the box. Her Mother examined the contents keenly. Camille had, of course, told her the story of the pearl and clearly Catherine was able to surmise the full significance of the gift.

"Well, I don't think I can quite let you get away with missing the party _entirely_, but I think I might let you sneak off a little early…" Catherine said with a knowing smile. Camille didn't need to look at him to know how much Richard would be blushing right now. To add to his humiliation, Catherine shot a wink at him.

"Maybe I should go…" Richard began, but Camille turned around sharply and didn't let him finish that thought.

"There is no way you are letting me go in there and face an evening of teasing alone! Not if you _ever_ want to repeat our recent activities."

"Ok," he said meekly, and followed her inside. It was nice to know he could follow instructions, because Camille had a lot of things planned for them…

A/N: Yay, another story finished. Maybe I'll write a part 4 somebody about their first date, I don't know yet.


End file.
